


Letting Go the Watchmen of the Heart

by farad



Category: Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farad/pseuds/farad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unlearning life's lessons</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting Go the Watchmen of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoJo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/gifts).



> For JoJo - just a little something, and unfortunately, *very* little. Unbetaed, so very sorry.

_"I shall the effect of this good lesson keeps as watchman to my heart."_  
William Shakespeare

 

Ezra watched.

 

He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't. His mother had taught him from the start, before he could speak, before he could go to the outhouse by himself, to watch other people. 'Always know what's happening around you, Ezra. Always know who is where and what they are doing.'

 

By the time he could read, she was teaching him how to watch without anyone seeing him watch. 'People don't act the same if they know someone's watching. The trick is to know where they are and what they're doing without them knowing that you know.'

 

By the time he was reading the newspapers and understanding the financial pages, he had learned how to blend completely into a room, to be there, to know everything that was going on around him, but not to be seen. It helped, of course, that he was young: 'People ignore children, assuming that they don't understand the world. You listen and you watch, and if you don't understand what's going on, you tell me. I'll know.'

 

By the time he was tall enough to escort Maude to soirees and fine restaurants, he had learned how to stand out in a room, to command attention, to hold attention, to know what was going on while being the center of attention. 'Hold them – own them. Always know how to control them. But always watch them.'

 

He had learned his lessons well, enough so that now, he could sit in the crowded saloon, dealing cards and betting with up to eight other players, knowing who had what, who would bet what – and what the men in the corner of the bar were doing, what they were thinking of doing, and who stood to suffer from it.

 

Which was why he knew that something was wrong with Chris Larabee.

 

It wasn't really quite fair to think of it that way; Chris was a complex man, and he was rarely ever happy, so the idea that something was 'wrong' was close to the man's natural condition. But over the past two years, Ezra had learned the range of 'wrong' involved, from the irritation of Buck rescuing women and putting the whole town in jeopardy to the discovery of the person behind the murder of Chris' own family.

 

He knew the range of anger and retribution Chris Larabee could and would exercise.

 

As he sat in the center of the saloon, dealing another round of cards, playing to the egos of a local mine owner, a cattle baron, and a man who had come in on the stage and might possibly own a considerable amount of stock in a railroad company, Ezra watched Chris.

 

He sat hunched forward over his beer, which was a sign in itself – beer, not whiskey, his preferred drink. Something was wrong, something had him worried enough that he was afraid he would have to be able to think clearly.

 

Several hands later, Ezra was aware of Buck coming in the door. He walked quickly, smiling at several ladies as he passed them – but he passed them. That was unusual behavior for the man, as was the speed with which he made his way to Chris' side. He leaned in close enough to block Ezra's view of either of their faces.

 

Something was definitely wrong.

 

The two men sat talking to each other for a time, but when there was a break in the game and Ezra rose, heading to the bar under the pretense of replenishing his drink, Chris rose off his bar stool and he and Buck started for the door. Ezra lifted a hand to stop them, to inquire as to the current concerns, but Chris walked past him with barely a nod, and Buck, friendly enough to slap Ezra on the shoulder and call a warm "Howdy", didn't stop either.

 

Ezra started after them, annoyed, but also growing more worried. For a few seconds, he debated following them out, but at the moment, whatever the situation was seemed to be personal, and if there was one thing he had learned about Chris, it was not to interfere in his personal life.

 

So he replenished his drink and returned to the table, taking out his frustrations on the men he was playing against, and winning well.

 

As the cattle baron abandoned the game a while later, Ezra heard the distinctive clink of Chris' spurs as he came back into the saloon. He walked as fast as he could through the crowd, headed back to the bar, and Ezra watched him order another beer. Whatever was going on was not yet resolved.

 

But Chris was back here, without Buck, biding his time as it were. Since he didn't feel the need to tell Ezra what was going on, nor did he have the desire to distract himself with cards, Ezra decided to wait it out. He played for a while longer, until the railroad man also threw in his cards.

 

"On that note, gentlemen," he said gathering his cards together, "I bid you a good night."

 

"But we've only just started!" Elburn, the mine owner protested.

 

"No, sir, I fear that we have just ended," Ezra said smoothly, finishing off the rest of his drink. "I assure you, there will be other opportunities. I suspect that if you sit here long enough, you'll find others who might wish to partake of a game of chance."

 

Elburn glared at him, but he didn't argue. As Ezra moved away from the table, he heard the man call out for any other players, and Ezra wasn't surprised when several men from other tables dropped in to play. Most of them wouldn't play Ezra, not anymore, but they'd take a chance on an unknown.

 

He made his way to the bar, nodding to people he knew. He didn't go close to Chris, still annoyed, which was why when he turned with his new glass of brandy, he found Josiah standing with Chris. Unlike Buck, Josiah didn't crowd in against Chris so Ezra saw part of the exchange. It was enough to let him know that whatever this situation was that had Chris so worried had taken a turn for the worse.

 

And since it was Josiah at this late hour, then whatever it was at issue involved Vin and probably Nathan. Which explained a large part of Chris' worry.

 

Vin.

 

This time, he didn't give Chris the excuse. He walked straight into their path and they started away from the bar, blocking any further movement. "May I be of some assistance?" he asked, holding the glass close to his mouth but not yet drinking.

 

Josiah blinked but glanced to Chris, deferring the answer.

 

Chris' lips drew into a straight line, the first sign of his temper. His face tightened and his shoulders rose, the fabric of his long black coat moving around his legs. But when he spoke, his voice was low and even, his tone flat. "Come outside," he said, tilting his head toward the door. Then he brushed past Ezra, Josiah still following, and Ezra had to move fast to keep up with the two of them.

 

'Outside' wasn't just outside the doorway on the boardwalk. Chris led them down the boardwalk, past the small clusters of people standing or sitting around the watch fires and down toward the livery. Before he got there, though, he slowed and nodded to Josiah who went on. Ahead, Ezra saw people around the livery, lamps flickering enough for him to recognize Buck and Tiny working with saddled horses, loading them and a mule with supplies.

 

"We got visitors just outside of town," Chris said, his voice still low. "They need help but they can't come into town. Buck and Josiah are going back to them now, taking what they can. Nathan and Vin are out there with 'em now, doing what they can."

 

Ezra frowned, the question on the tip of his tongue until he saw the way Chris was looking at him, and the pieces fell together.

 

"Renegades," he said, knowing why Vin was at the center of this. "You're aiding renegades - "

 

"Ain't renegades," Chris cut him off. "They're Apache, no Ko-Je's people. They're from the west. They're starving to death. Vin says the government ain't living up to the treaties."

 

"I'm certain Vin would be the first to question their story," Ezra said, not hiding his sarcasm.

 

"Don't need much corroboration to see them starving," Chris shot back. "They got women and children with 'em, Nathan's helping with a woman having a bad birth. They're sick, they ain't got nothing."

 

Ezra swallowed, understanding now why Chris had been anxious. Vin had been out there, negotiating with more of his Indian friends, and Chris had been worried about him. But like that other time, Chris had trusted Vin enough to let him go with Nathan, again, the rest of them having to wait and cover for them -

 

"Remember last time?" Chris asked, as if he knew Ezra's mind.

 

Ezra drew a deep breath. He was still holding the drink, he realized, and he took a long sip of it, buying time to think. After he swallowed, he said, "I do remember last time. And Mr. Tanner was correct in his belief that that Indian was innocent."

 

Chris stepped closer then, his eyes boring into Ezra's. "Yeah, he was. And I was right to trust him," he said simply. "I'm hoping I'm right again this time."

 

"Are you going out with Josiah?" he asked, thinking of the cost if Vin was wrong.

 

"Buck is," Chris said. "They're taking food and supplies, helping them move along."

 

Of course they are, Ezra thought. Move them along to cause trouble somewhere else. Aloud, he said, "Is there anything I can do?"

 

Chris stared at him for a second, then he nodded, once. "Don't want too many of us out there – bad enough that we're down by four. Need you to use that training of yours, stay ahead of what we need to know so we can stop things before it gets too bad."

 

Ezra looked to where Buck and Josiah were mounting up, Buck taking the mule's lead. "Of course," he said smoothly, not sure whether he was pleased or not to be one of the ones left behind. "The night is settling down, though, I doubt there will be any trouble we can't handle." Unless it comes from the 'visitors'.

 

Chris lifted an eyebrow, as if he had heard Ezra's last thought, but all he said was, "Head back to the saloon. I've got JD walking the other end of town, mostly to keep him out of the way. This isn't something we need for people to know, Ezra."

 

"No, I suspect not," Ezra agreed. "Not everyone would be as charitable, I'm certain."

 

Chris didn't answer him, walking away toward Buck and Josiah, giving them last-minute instructions that Ezra didn't hear. Instead, Ezra turned to do as he was told. The very idea of it sat in the bottom of his stomach, noxious.

 

He sat at the bar for a while, watching the game that he wasn't involved with and the ebb and flow of the customers in the place. He tried not to think about Chris' trust in Vin, in the possibility that this time, Vin was wrong. Everyone knew about Apaches – they couldn't be trusted, they were the ones who refused to honor their own treaties.

 

They were raiders who raped women, tortured men, and killed children. Savages, at their very back door, being aided by them.

 

Why was Chris trusting Vin in this matter? Vin's sympathies were clear.

 

As he had predicted, the business slowed and eventually the game died out. Elburn was the last one at the table, having won this time, and he challenged Ezra to a new game. With only three or four people in the place and his thoughts spiraling in circles, Ezra found himself sitting at the table, playing five-card stud.

 

"Did pretty well against those others," Elburn said as he dealt the cards. "Maybe my deck is luckier." He grinned, chewing tobacco juice dribbling from the side of his mouth.

 

"I suspect we shall see," Ezra answered, looking at his cards. An ace of clubs, jack of clubs, eight of hearts, five of diamonds, three of clubs. Trying to draw to a flush was possible but not likely. The safe move would be to discard three, keeping the ace and the jack, seeing if he could draw to either of them as a pair.

 

"We had some trouble up at the mine," Elburn said as Ezra tossed in a half-dollar. The man matched it but didn't raise, instead holding up the deck as he tossed in two cards of his own. He was holding three which probably meant he had a pair and an ace-kicker. He could be drawing to a straight or a flush, but he hadn't stuck Ezra as the kind who was that willing to risk it. Even though, this was stud and not draw. "Some Indians been running around, causing trouble. Part of my job here is to hire on some security people – got five of 'em now, over at the boarding house. I was actually supposed to check in with your sheriff when I got here, but the jail house was empty this afternoon when I went by."

 

Ezra drew a long, deep breath, concentrating on the cards that came across the table to him. "Indians? What sort of trouble?" He picked up the first card. The five of clubs.

 

"Some of our mules have disappeared – figure they're stealing 'em. Tools, too, picks and long blades. One of my men found an eagle feather on the ground near where some of the tools disappeared, and another one heard some kind of chanting and singing one night, when the wind was blowing right. I've posted extra guards, told the men to shoot anything that moves. Damned heathens. We give 'em good land, take care of 'em – hell, they don't have to work, can just sit on their bare asses and live off our hard labor." He picked up his first card, looked at it, then put it at one end of the three cards he had held on to.

 

Chris was trusting Vin, giving the Indians supplies and food. Letting Nathan help them bring more of their children into the world. He reached out and picked up the next card: eight of clubs.

 

"But you have never actually seen an Indian at the mine," he asked, lifting his eyes to stare across the table at the other man.

 

Elburn blinked, his face scrunching in surprise. Then he turned and spat a stream of tobacco juice into a spittoon at his feet before lifting up his glass of whiskey and taking a deep drink. After he'd swallowed, he said, "By the time you see 'em, it's too damned late. Figure we're lucky they're stealing and ain't decided to come kill us yet. That'd bring the Army down on 'em, though, and I hear there's a shoot-on-sight order these days for the ones who have left the reservations. Shoot to kill them and anyone with 'em. 'Bout damned time, if you ask me. Bleeding-heart idiots from back East don't know what the hell it's like living out here with them heathens. Why I'm looking for men from around here, real men who know what to do with these red niggers."

 

'Red niggers'. Ezra knew the phrase, knew half of it very very well. It had been part of his vocabulary most of his life. But somewhere in the past year or so, that word had started to unsettle him. Perhaps it was because he knew a man now who was one of the hardest-working, smartest men he'd ever met. Perhaps it was because he was beginning to think that it wasn't the color of one's skin that determined one's worth, but the efforts one made in life.

 

That had not been one of Maude's lessons, not in that form.

 

Elburn was getting ready to pick up his last card but Ezra held out his hand, stopping him. "We each have one card left down. I realize this is not 'draw', but how about we bet on the four cards we have in our hands?"

 

Elburn's bushy eyebrows twitched and one of them rose. "Be glad to take more of your money, son – hell, I was the one who wanted draw to start with."

 

Ezra nodded, smiling at the man. "Five dollars," he said, tossing in the bills.

 

Elburn's smile widened. "That good, huh. Well, sure, son, I'll play. Hell, how about your five and five more? What have you got to lose?"

 

What indeed. 'Red niggers', out there now with four of his friends. He could tell Elburn, get him and his five men. He could roust the whole town, get them to come out with their guns, form a posse to find the renegades, hold them until the Army got here.

 

"I match your five," he said, "and – what the hell, five more?"

 

Elburn's grin grew wider. "Sure thing." He dropped another five on the pot. "Tell you a little secret," he said, leaning in close. "Army's already on its way. Supposed to be sending an advance unit this way, be here in the next few days." He sat back, grinning like he'd announced the Second Coming. "I've been authorized to offer a reward for anyone who has news of these renegades. Mining company's paying $250 to anyone who has information that will lead to them being rounded up."

 

The number flared behind Ezra's eyes - $250. He could feel the texture of it against his hand, the weight of it as his fingers closed around it. $250. To tell Elburn where the renegades were. To save his friends, possibly even more lives.

 

If he told him now, before the Army got here, then Buck, Josiah, Nathan, and Vin could get away from them. If he told Elburn now, he could even split the reward with them.

 

"You all right, son? You look like you've seen a ghost – hell, you don't know nothing about these Indians, do you?"

 

Ezra swallowed, the tips of his fingers tingling with the expectation of the money. He laid down the cards in his hand then he wiped both hands against the table top, drawing them back and forth until the itch turned into a dull pain. "You'd best be careful tossing around opportunities like that," he said, his mouth so dry that he had to work to make the words form. "There are unscrupulous people in these parts."

 

Elburn laughed, sitting back in his chair. "You can say that again," he said as he picked up his last card.

 

Ezra took a deep breath, the words, the information, sitting on the tip of his tongue, ready to rush out the very second he opened his mouth. To distract himself, he picked up the last card: the queen of clubs.

 

He had the flush. It wasn't a straight flush, but it was a flush. It would most likely beat the pair and ace kicker that Elburn was most likely holding.

 

"You gonna bet that hand?" Elburn said, smiling again.

 

Ezra smiled back. "Five dollars," he said, tossing it casually on the pot.

 

"Good as any place to start," Elburn agreed, "and I raise you – hell, son, how about ten? It's the money for the reward. Most of the people around here be willing to give me information for free, right?"

 

Before Ezra could answer, he heard the jangle of spurs behind him. Chris passed the table in a cool breeze that ruffled the money and carried the scent of cheroot and dust. Ezra watched as he walked straight up the bar and leaned on it, not looking at Ezra at all.

 

"I'll match," Ezra said, but he held up another ten. "It's only money," he said.

 

The end wasn't long in coming, and it wasn't $250 by a long shot. Elburn turned over two pair, but they weren't enough to beat the flush. He was, though, a good loser, slapping Ezra on the back and reminding him that there was a reward for any information about the 'red niggers' – though now it was down to about $200.

 

Ezra watched him leave, carefully folding his winnings and tucking them into the inner pocket of his jacket. As the doors swung closed behind the man, he pushed himself to his feet, ready to head to the bar – only to find Chris standing on the other side of the table, staring at him.

 

They were the only two people in the place, other than Inez who was in the back. Ezra swallowed then said, "An advance team from the Army will be here in the next few days. They will kill any Indians they find not on reservations, and anyone helping them. Anyone."

 

Chris held his gaze. "What should we do?" The question was unexpected – Ezra couldn't remember a time when Chris had ever asked him what steps to take next. But his surprise was muted by the need to answer it, by the need to do something. He wasn't convinced that helping the renegades – because that was what they were, not matter what anyone thought – was a good thing.

 

But he wasn't ready to give up his friends. "We have to warn the others, get them somewhere safe, somewhere where the Army won't find them – your shack perhaps? Surely Vin knows somewhere where they can hide."

 

Chris stared at him, the look biting into Ezra as if it were a knife. Ezra stared back, worried that he hadn't made himself clear, that something was wrong with Chris, that this whole thing was a nightmare and he couldn't wake up.

 

Then Chris nodded, one time, again. And the stiffness in his shoulders eased. "Vin does know somewhere, somewhere not even the Army can touch 'em. Good work," he said and suddenly, with no warning, he smiled.

 

Ezra flinched. For a second, he thought he might panic – he wasn't in a dream, but Chris was smiling at him.

 

The gaze left him as Chris glanced around, then he stepped around the table, his hand catching Ezra's upper arm and drawing him along. He spoke very low, so quietly that Ezra struggled to hear him. "They're heading to Ko-Je's reservation. Vin knows where they can stay there, and Josiah is going to talk to Ko-Je, to explain what they need and why." They stepped through the swinging doors onto the boardwalk, the air almost cold now. The watch fires were burning low and there was almost no one out now. Chris drew Ezra into the far shadows, his hand sliding along the fabric of Ezra's jacket. "They knew the Army was behind 'em – and yes, they stole the stuff from the mine. They offered it to us in exchange for the supplies. We'll get it back to them."

 

"You knew," Ezra said quietly, the pieces falling into place. "You knew who Elburn was, what he would say - "

 

"I suspected," Chris countered, and his hand moved up, sliding along Ezra's shoulder to his neck.

 

"But you didn't tell me. You didn't trust me. You trust Vin, with his sympathies that will get people killed, but you - "

 

Chris' hand covered Ezra's lips, bringing him to silence. "I do trust Vin. You've known that from the beginning. But I trust you too. I told you, didn't I?"

 

Ezra opened his mouth, his lips moving against Chris' calloused fingers. He wanted to argue, to object that Chris had tricked him, tested him, not trusted him so much as used him.

 

"Ezra," Chris said, leaning in closer. His chest brushed against Ezra's as his lips brushed Ezra's ear as he spoke. "I told you. Because I trust you. And I was right to, the same way I am with Vin: you did the right thing."

 

'The right thing'. He had given up a reward of $250 to protect his friends. He had done what Chris wanted even though he doubted that Chris – and Vin – were right.

 

He had trusted, despite all his instincts and logic.

 

"Town's quiet," Chris murmured in his ear. "Probably be best if we were close to each other tonight, so that if there's any trouble, we don't have to go looking for each other, wasting time."

 

This was not the way Chris usually thought; usually, Chris wanted distance between them, to keep any possible rumors at bay.

 

And usually, Ezra agreed. He did, after all, abhor gambling.

 

But as he stood with Chris' hand over his mouth and Chris lips brushing his ear, all he wanted was Chris' body pressed up to his, warm and alive and not riddled with Army bullets.

 

Warm and alive and all his.

 

"I believe," he whispered, pausing as Chris' fingers dropped away from his mouth and came to rest on his belt buckle, Chris' thumb stroking rhythmically along the fine fabric of Ezra's shirt and the belly button under it, "that my bed is big enough for two to sleep comfortably."

 

"Good idea," Chris agreed. "Though we do need to stay awake, just in case there are problems."

 

"Perhaps we can alternate," Ezra suggested, one of his hands rising to rest on Chris' chest, where the steady beat of his heart bounced against his fingertips, once more eliciting the tingle so like the one from earlier.

 

"Another good idea," Chris agreed. But the words were muted as his lips dipped lower to kiss the space where Ezra's jaw and throat met.

 

His mother had taught him to be aware of everything going on around him. But she had also taught him that sometimes, when the distractions were too great, it was best to get away. He did that now, pushing past Chris. The air helped him collect his thoughts, kept him aware of his surroundings, even though it did little to calm the speed of his blood.

 

Chris followed him, across the boardwalk, back through the saloon doors and up the stairs. Inez was still in the back, blowing out lights, and he called a good night to her as they went up the stairs.

 

As he unlocked the door to his room, Chris' body close behind him, he thought of another of Maude's lessons: never trust someone you love.

 

He pushed the door open far enough for the light from the lamp in the hallway to show him his own lamp. As he reached for the matches nearby, he considered her lesson. He was ignoring it, with some regularity these days. She would be ashamed.

 

But as the wick caught and he settled the lamp on the dresser, he turned to find Chris leaning against the closed door, a black shadow around a pale face with blazing green and gold eyes. Ezra's fingertips tingled again, and he rubbed them against his trousers.

 

Chris reached out one hand, catching the front of Ezra's vest and pulling him in close. "You won tonight," he said just before his lips caught Ezra's.

 

Yes, Ezra agreed with his last coherent thought. He had won tonight. As he wove his hands into Chris' hair, the tingle and the burn finally stopped, recognizing victory. And it was a winning worth far more than money – which was a new lesson, one he wasn't sure Maude had ever considered.

 

He closed his eyes, letting go of everything around him except Chris. When he opened them again, he watched only what was right in front of him.

 


End file.
